Reflections on things that matter.
Metaphorically speaking, I’ve been out of my tower this week. I have been house-sitting for the past 3 days and I think it has been one of the best things for the often lingering depression. Not my room, not my depression. I’m uncomfortable. My bed isn’t here. The familiar four walls of my tower aren’t here. I’ve been outside, and being outside physically is like a prophecy to my soul. “You’re coming out too.”
Fresh surroundings bring a fresh perspective. Even my computer seems different. It’s magical. It’s a place of creativity and composition rather than a place of escape from my woe. Instead of thinking “let’s watch NBC’s Chuck. All five seasons. Oh, it’s over? Let’s watch them all again,” I’m writing and searching and hoping and believing that my own life can be better than the made up ones on Netflix. Rather than seeking stories to pretend I’m apart of, I’m ready to make some of my own. All because I’m not in my room. My personal tower.
(That’s me re-watching Chuck)
For months now, I’ve felt like my life’s theme was “When will my life begin” from the Disney movie Tangled. “I’ve been wondering, and wondering…when will my life begin?” It wasn’t until last night, however, that I really realized something. In a way, I have been a self-imprisoned Rapunzel. I’ve lived in the tower all my life. I was a late bloomer. I was scared to go away to college when I was 18, so I went to community college, then to the local state school, then to the church Bible school, then to a job at the same community college I graduated from. I never even tried to get out. I was afraid to leave my family, afraid to leave my friends, afraid to leave my church and afraid to leave what I knew. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it out there. It took me a few years to realize that I wanted to get out, and that I was ready to make a life for myself, but by this time, I had trapped myself inside a tower of fear and insecurity, and I was looking out of the window, wondering when my life would begin.
Last night while taking to a friend about the past few months and years of my life, I said aloud what I have been thinking abstractly for a while. “I’m ready to be a grown up.” I’m ready to leave the tower. It’s not Mother Gothel who is keeping me in, though. It’s me. It’s my fear. I’ve been terrified of doing the wrong thing all of my life. I’ve been afraid of disappointing my parents, my friends, my church, and my God. I never made a decision that wasn’t dictated by those fears. Even when I made my plans to go to Europe, I was partly motivated by a need to impress people and to make them proud of me. I’ve never been living my life.
Now, sitting in the library writing this blog, I’m thinking about applying to jobs in different places. I’m looking at my options and I’m seeing for the first time that I have a choice, and that I’m free to make mistakes. I’m free to go and live. I don’t have to wonder when my life will begin anymore. I don’t have to wait for Flynn Rider to show up either. It’s my job to get me onto the grass and into the grass and the dirt and see if there is a live like the one I’ve dreamed of or not. I’m ready for my life to begin. I’m still terrified, but I’m ready to try to take some risks